Banner of Love
by Colourful Darkness
Summary: A collection of drabbles (mainly smut) between Natasha/Black Widow and Bruce/Hulk, containing times from their first interactions to romantic developments. Please R & R.
1. Sun's getting real low

A thin blanket of snow covered the ground. She found him tearing through the debris, throwing broken pieces of machinery in a fit of rage. Strong powerful muscles, green as ever, lifting unhinged car doors and sending them flying across the landscape.

"Hey big guy," Natasha said from behind him.

He spun around with celerity and roared, black eyes shining like rough onyxes.

Frightened, she took a step back, her panicked breath mingling with the cold air. _It's Bruce_, she reminded herself. _You're gotta wake him up and soon he'll be back, and you'll tell him that they won, they got Loki's staff, he did so well, so so much and that the world would be damaged without him and that he's not the monster he thinks he is, and it will be okay. You just have to wake him up, Natasha. Now._

She closed her fist tightly and for a moment fear breaks through the numbness of her skin and shoots through her body like a jolt of electricity.

Oh, how he terrified her.

But, oh she liked Bruce too. He was a gentleman, an outcast like herself, a human…

"The sun's getting real low," she said, crouching down.

The hulk roared, snorted and shook his large head.

Natasha held up one hand in the surrender position as though taming a wild brumby.

A confused expression crossed the hulk's face. He snorted a few more times and staggered towards her, his large feet crunching through the snow.

He looked at her outstretched hand, still and un-trembling. After a short moment, he reached out his own and turned his palm upwards, resting the back of his hand on the palm of her own. Natasha trailed her hand over his skin, surprised for the tenth time at how smooth his skin was. She looked into the Hulk's eyes as she touched him, trying to pour life and humanity back into him. She ignored the debris he had caused around the, the thick pulsing veins under his green skin and the radioactive poisoning that had been coursing through his body for years. None of it mattered. This was Bruce. Her friend.

She reached up and touched his forearm and trailed her fingers down to his palm. All the while, she watched his eyes…watched the rage fade into gentleness…

She smiled softly and pulled her hand away.

The hulk snorted at the loss of contact.

They stared at one another for a long time, his stony eyes clashing with her wide ones.

Then, he stumbled backwards as though injured. Natasha stood up and smiled. She watched him stagger through the woods, clutching twigs and branches in his wake. His body convulsed as he fell to the ground.

Natasha watched the transformation in awe. It only took a minute. And Bruce was laying in the snow, shirtless and shivering, cradling a pulled off twig in his human hands.

Natasha walked over to him.

"Hey."

"Hey." Bruce got to his knees. His face, hair and chest were streaked with dirt. His cheeks were sunken, but his intelligent eyes peered out from his shaggy hair, regarding the mayhem around him. Natasha though he looked rumpled, strong and sexy as hell.

"Forgive me for the mess I've caused," said Bruce, glancing at the broke machinery, most of which had belonged to the avengers with some belonging to their enemies.

Natasha smiled at him. "There's nothing to forgive."


	2. Innocence

**Shout out to Everlastingtrueromance, Cynn3Rose, Valevilandra, Retronick, PhantomPenguin and Tripp3235 for your lovely reviews. Thank so much. Hope everyone likes chapter 2. Once again, these are just drabbles in no particular order. If you want me to write a specific one-shot PM me. **

**Chapter 2: Innocent**

"Bruce," she breathed, crawling up onto the end of the bed, noticing that in the moonlight streaming from the window, that he had lifted his head off the pillow to watch her. She ran her hand along his foot, grasping his ankle to guide her in the dark, as she followed the contours of his shin and calf muscles, until she was kneeling on the makeshift bed beside him.

"What's wrong?" His voice was sleepy, but his eyes were alert as ever.

"Couldn't get to sleep," said Natasha.

"That makes two." Bruce let out a shuddered breath. Natasha felt his fear and guilt hang in the air like unanswered questions, so she dove under the blanket with him. They lay facing each other, their arms entwined; hands resting on one another, like a double pray.

"Are you thinking about what happened today?" asked Natasha eventually.

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"It's not your fault."

"It is."

Natasha rolled onto her back. From the corner of her eye, she watched Bruce. He lay still, his fingers rigid and stiff, curled tightly around the cotton sheets.

"The Big Guy killed hundreds of people today…_I_, killed hundreds of –"

"It's not your fault," she repeated.

"It is."

She rolled on her side and glared at him, her vibrant green eyes clashing with his sad brown ones.

"Circumstances that aren't our choices – do not make us who we are," she whispered.

Bruce stared at her for a long moment. "Do you truly believe that? Because, I don't think you do. You are, after all Natalie Romanoff…and I may not know much about you but I know that circumstances that weren't your choices have made you everything you are. You may have not chosen it, but it's true."

Natasha hugged herself, feeling that it might protect her not just from the truth of his words, but from everything. From the hostility. The memories of today's battle. The feelings she couldn't even identify. Natasha took a deep breath and swallowed thickly.

"I was innocent once, Bruce. So were you. This bloodlust was forced upon us by circumstances that aren't our choices. It's not your fault."

"I killed –"

"So did I –"

"But –"

"No, listen to me, Bruce. I kill out of choice, you never do…I kill because for my entire life that's all I've known…"

"Because you were trained to," said Bruce, "and that's not necessarily your fault. Firstly, you did it for Russia and now for SHIELD…circumstances that aren't our choices do not make us who we are."

"Don't use my own words against me Banner."

He grinned.

"I should go," said Natasha. "Let you get some sleep." She made a move to leave, but Bruce grabbed her hand.

"Stay, please," he whispered.

Shock and confusion crossed Natasha's face; her eyes moving past his face and down towards his hand. Bruce followed her gaze and saw with surprise that his own hand gently covered hers, holding it in place. They both looked at their entwine hands, unsure of what was happening or what to do. For a moment they said nothing.

Natasha lay back down and looked at the ugly buttercup ceiling.

"What happens if the Big Guy decides to turn up?"

"He won't, not tonight."

"How do you know?"

"I just know," he said, unable to give her anything more.

"Okay."

Bruce looked at her. "Are you afraid the Big Guy will turn up?"

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "The Black Widow isn't afraid of anything?"

"And what of Natasha? Is she afraid?"

Natasha blinked. "Natasha Romanoff is afraid of everything." For the first time, in her life, the truth of those words surprised her.

Bruce reached out and grabbed her forearms, pulling her to him. "His quiet "come 'ere," and a hand curling around her waist was enough for Natasha to gather her beatings.

Somewhere outside, Natasha could hear the wind blow against the apartment walls, mingled with the sound of Jarvis talking to Tony.

Natasha closed her eyes, picturing Tony tapping the three dimensional computers, creating science so tragically beautiful that it could almost be an apology to the world. It wasn't though. He was just trying to make the world a better place. Just like they all were. It was faith, love and hope; all the virtues Natasha wanted to be guided by in this life, all that virtues that had been stolen from her right from the moment she walked into the Red room, all the virtues she was beginning to feel again as she walked beside her SHIELD teammates.

Natasha knew that somewhere out there, evil was waiting for them, and Loki was most likely sharpening his diabolical mind; that Thor for picking up his hammer to convince himself he was worthy in times when he didn't feel so.

She knew, as she listened to the wind and the sound of Jarvis rattle to Tony in his robotic voice that it was these moments that mattered. Right now, she was here; resting in the arms of Bruce, a man who was feared by many and loved by few.

It was like her trainers had taught her – never judge a book by its cover. Deep down people are so much more. Bruce was more than the hulk, more than a villain and a superhero. He was human. So beautifully, flawfully human.

Natasha opened her eyes and looked at Bruce. He was awake too and for a moment they just stared at each other in silence, as the sound of Jarvis's waffle faded into the murmurs of the night.


	3. Start of a Lullaby

**Chapter 3: Start of a Lullaby **

_A/N: Thank you all so much for your support. I can't believe I nearly have 50 followers all ready. Thanks to your constructive criticism. I made a mistake in the last drabble and called her "Natalie" instead of "Natalia" which is reference to her former Russian name. Shoutout to ktikat131, Lupinica friggasdoiter, untapdtreasure, UltimateGohan42, Gabu Sevs, NeverMesswithTeddyBears &amp; Tripp3235 for their reviews._

_This week's drabble comes from the prompt requested by Tripp3235 who asked for pre Ultorn scenes based on Natasha telling Bruce this was the most peaceful lullaby yet and the assumption that they have had many unsuccessful lullabies. I hope you enjoy. Pelase review as yoru reviews keep me motivated._

_Also if you have any scenes you want me to write, feel free to drop me a line._

_Til next time. _

"That was probably the most peaceful lullaby yet." The two of them were at Barton's farm house.

"It was, wasn't it?" Bruce smiled, please with himself. The black widow returned the smile.

"Yeah it was."

Natasha closed her eyes and remembered all the lullabies, the most of which were not peaceful at all. The memories flicked through her mind like a movie montage, but there was one that suck with her, stronger than all the others. She closed her eyes and remembered the beginning of the lullaby.

Flashback:

She had been fighting someone and she had fallen.

Frantically, she pushed her hair away from her face and saw the hulk storming towards her; throwing debris in his wake, his eyes bright with anger.

Natasha scampered backwards. Nearby she heard a commotion; the clashing of Captain America's sword, people yelling and the thudding of Thor's hammer. Everybody was engaged in a fight and she was left, once again, being chased by the hulk.

He charged towards her. Blind panic made Natasha drag her shaking body through the dirt as the hulk advanced on her; sharp stones jabbing into her leg as she did so. Automatically, Natasha grabbed one of the jagged rocks, thinking pitifully it would be her only weapon against the hulk.

Natasha tried to get up but the wounds she had acquired from the previous fight prevented her for doing so. The hulk strolled towards her, one hand outstretched and suddenly Natasha was lifted into the air and thrown against a wall made of rock. Pain radiated down her spine from the force of the blow. The hulk picked her up and threw her again, this time keeping his fist around her throat.

Panic flooded through her veins. She felt her insides lurched. She struggled, clawing at the air. The hulk's fingers were sealed around her throat, choking the life away. Breathing was hard. Every erratic breath hurt. She tried to kick the Hulk's hand away, but only managed to bang her ankle against the rock wall; the impact ricocheting painfully through her foot.

Struggling to breathe, Natasha stared at the hulk before her. He didn't know what he was doing. Bruce would be so grievous when he found out he had hurt her, or worse, killed her…no, no…

The breaths were leaving Natasha's lips in painful gasps. She banged her head against the wall she was suspended against, her body convulsing from the lack of oxygen.

Natasha threw the rock she was holding with as much fore as she could muster. It hit the hulk across the cheek, causing his head to whip back. Startled, the hulk dropped Natasha.

Wheezing, she fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Sticks and bones grazed her kneecaps. She scrambled to her feet and backed away.

The hulk roared, causing birds to flutter from nearby trees.

Natasha retreated as the hulk advanced on her again, her heart pounding and head spinning. Bang! The hulk had grabbed her and blasted her into the corner of another rock wall. Natasha had no time to register the pain that radiated through her body as she backed up as far as she could go, knowing she was trapped and there was nothing she could do.

Dazed with fear, Natasha looked at her surroundings. In that moment everything was clear, crystal clear. The metallic smell of blood seeping down her forearms. The throbbing ache of jagged rocks against her back. The slight tremor of her knees. Lastly, the clearest thing was the sight of the hulk standing before, his temper irate. Somewhere deep inside him, Bruce was in there, oblivious to the turmoil he had caused.

As Natasha stood against the wall like a victim lining up for execution, she understood, finally the perilousness of her job. She understood the hulk, and Bruce. She understood that she was going to die. Everything was connected and it was tragically beautiful.

The hulk stood in front of her, hair slightly awry, eyes flashing angrily. He reached for her again, struck her across the face, then his fingers went for her throat again. Natasha's heart was hammering so loud that for a moment it felt like it was going to burst from her ribcage. The hulk's fist closed around her throat, choking the life out of her. She was going to die just like the victims around her. There was a whole world waiting for her to see. She was never see it. Never see anything again.

She was blacking out. The world was spinning. Her mind was going crazy with the need for oxygen. Breaths left her body, fast, very fast. She let her eyes droop shut. Her lungs were screaming. The pair was unbearable. This was it. The air hummed around her. She heard the Hulk breathing heavily. She heard people yelling in the distance, the screech of metal against metal. Natasha forced her eyes open. The world was warped and the only thing she truly noticed was the glorious sunset against the horizon.

"Hey big guy," she croaked out. "The sun's getting real low." Setting like the life being drained from her.

Confused, the hulk loosened his fingers slightly and the air rushed back into Natasha's lungs and she gasped in relief. The hulk turned and looked at the sunset, snorted and then turned back to her. He raised his fist as if he was going to strike again but Natasha brought her hand up. Slowly, she trailed her fingers up his arm. If these were her last moments, she wanted to feel, for the first time, the smoothness of his skin. But then, instead of retaliating, the hulk surprised her even more. He let her go. When her knees collided with the ground, a wall of mud splashed up from the puddles below, making her gasp and shiver, sending air back into her lungs.

Frightened, she tilted her neck upwards. The hulk towered above her. Her eyes clashed with his, which were swirling, changing from green to brown. What was happening?

The hulk staggered backwards. Too weak to do anything, Natasha watched him. Mud streaked her face, her clothes, her hair, her boots, making her feel like the weight of a baby elephant.

A few feet ahead, the hulk crashed to the ground. His body convulsed, once, twice, and then like some miracle, the hulk was gone and all that was left was Bruce, covered in as much mud as she was.

From where he sat, Bruce looked at her, eyes raking over her dishevelled state, her injuries, and the blood seeping down her arms. He dragged himself over to her.

"Oh Tasha, I'm sorry, what have I done? Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm…"

"Bruce –"

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry –"

"Bruce –"

"How badly did I hurt you?"

"Bruce –"

"I'm so sorry, just I, I –"

"Shut up."

Smiling at him, Natasha brushed her hair from her face and gripped his naked shoulder, pulling him closer to her face as she let out a laugh that rumbled through her core as she trailed her fingers up his neck until she was holding her index finger underneath his chin, tilting his face so that he looked at her.

"You did hurt me. But I forgive you," said Natasha and then she laughed again, softly this time.

Bruce frowned. "This isn't funny, Tash. I could have seriously hurt you, killed you even, I, I…" His brow furrowed. "Why are you laughing?"

Natasha smiled. "Because I think I've discovered the start of a lullaby."


	4. I Don't Hate You

**Chapter 4: I Don't Hate you**

**A/N: This chapter is based on the prompt from Katinkao8 who requested a scene when Bruce and Natasha meet after the Ultron movie. Enjoy. Please leave me your love and message me with your own requests.**

She found him in Prague, of all places. Why would he pick Prague? Those were the thoughts running through Natasha's head as she strode through the labyrinth of twisted European alleyways.

There was so much rain. It poured down on rooftops with the noise of a huffing rhinoceros. Shiny parked cards danced with angry pellets of water; people ran for cover, some shrieking, others laughing, and all through the city umbrellas were opened with a hasty pop.

Natasha's clothing clung to her skin, wet and heavy. She couldn't believe her luck. The day kept giving and giving and not in a good way. Puddles splashed under her feet and mud caked her shoes, weighing her steps but she pushed on, struggling to keep her heavy legs lifting in a natural rhythm developed form years of assassin training.

She looked ahead, her stinging eyes making out the town house Bruce had rented beyond the unforgiving downpour. She hastened towards it, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and kill him.

The street was a desolated and messy sort of place. The people who actually owned the dreary apartments on either side of the road had attempted to do them up with floral hand-sewn curtains, cliché welcome doormats and wilted rose gardens on what little front lawn they possessed. But a lot of derelicts lived on the street too. It was depressing to walk pass their apartments, which stood out like sore thumbs on a street that already looked like a ramshackle. Old newspaper littered broken porches, waist-high weeds constituted as gardens and filthy, mattered stray dogs loitered around the street, barking ferociously at anything that moved.

Natasha strode down the footpath towards the house she had been eyes, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, grasping tightly at the fabric she couldn't quite feel. As she walked to the front door, the wind tugged her red hair into a tangled frenzy; choppy locks battering against her wet cheekbones.

She knocked three times and waited.

The door creaked as it opened and Bruce Banner stood in the doorway, dressed in casual jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

He blinked. "Natasha?"

"Bruce." She nodded at him, a little too formally. He looked good…healthy…happy.

"Did SHIELD send you to find me?" He leant against the doorframe.

"No, I…I…" There was so much Natasha wanted to say to him; of how much she missed him, how sorry she was that he felt like he had to run away, and how, no matter if he felt like a monster at times, he was filled with more goodness than anyone she had ever known.

Natasha didn't know how to put her feelings into words, she never knew how to. Running a hand through her soaking hair, Natasha tried to think of something to say. An apology? A joke? A sentimental speech.

"I, I, um…" she stuttered as the rain poured down harder. Standing in the doorway, Bruce was staring at with such intensity, confusion and kindness that it made her want to cry.

"I – this was a mistake."

She whirled around to leave.

"Tash," he said, grabbing her wrist and reeling her to face him. She only saw the haunted gleam in his eyes before he threw his arms around her neck and held her tightly. She straightened up, trying to push him away, but he crashed his body to hers. Then, after a moment, her arms wrapped around him on their own accord, keeping him close to her, so close that she shut her eyes and breathed him in. His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his head against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly but she felt calm – as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them.

Bruce pulled away from her. The air turned cold and Natasha's skin prickled as his warm evacuated her body. She had a hard time looking at him, knowing nothing had changed.

"Do you want to come inside?"

"You left," was all she said. "I tried to call you back through the webcam and you shut me off. You. Left."

Bruce didn't say anything. Natasha wanted to roll her eyes. He stood in the raining street of Prague with calm indifference.

"Nothing to say, uh? I tracked you down and travelled all the way to Prague and you have nothing to say to me. Why do I even bother?"

She saw Bruce grit his teeth and wondered for the briefest moment, whether the Big Guy was going to make an unexpected appearance. But she was too angry to care. She stood in the rain staring at him. Suddenly she felt her anger dissipate and was surprised to find that it was replaced with sadness.

"Do you hate me?" she whispered. "Is that why you found it so easy to leave? Is that why you shut me off –"

He took a step towards her, to touch her, console her in some way. "Natasha –"

"No." She pushed roughly at his chest until he backed up against the badly painted outer wall of his apartment. "Don't placate me, don't pretend that you've made in your goddamn mission to erase me from your life…to erase SHIELD from your life…you shut me off when I tried to reach you like I was nothing more than a cockroach…you don't care."

"I don't care?" he repeated with murderous calamity. He laughed softly. "I don't care?" He took a step towards her, simmering like a storm cloud, slowly getting as angry as she was. "Every step I've taken is because I care. I hurt people Natasha. I am my best self when I am not with Shield, when I am helping sick people…because I care about others…and I care about you…I had to leave because I care."

"But you gave up on me."

"Because it was for the best. When you say I don't care, I, that's nothing further from the truth. I think about you," Bruce confessed. "All the time. In Prague, my daily thoughts are filled with plans of findings way to talk to you again, to say something…something not stupid, I, I…think about the first time I saw you in Calcutta and then when I saw you in the midst of SHIELD and how Black Widow has flourished." He paused. "Become even more powerful."

Natasha swallowed, her throat dry. Bruce was pacing now, like a caged lion, unable to find the space to breathe.

"I watch you on the news and I find myself proud of how brave you are, how courageous you are in circumstances that in reality must be frightening. I Google your name, just to keep updated on you, when I know I shouldn't–"

"Bruce –" She didn't want to hear any more but at the same time, she wanted to hear nothing else."

"But mostly I know this is not the right time to pursue any feelings of any kind because you hate me and I'm not good for you, but…I am powerless to contain it."

A few tense seconds passed and then Bruce chuckled, his hands running over his unshaven face before falling to his side.

"I've been ungracious. I've said too much. I'm sorry."

Natasha didn't think. If she thought about it, she would give herself a hundred reasons not to do the thing she wanted to do. She couldn't think. She was drowning in her own emotions. He still cared for her. That's all that mattered.

She grabbed the lapels of his shirt and pulled him towards her. Her lips hovered above his for a second as she whispered, "I don't hate you." Then she crushed her lips to his, their body flushing together in a maelstrom of heat and passion and he responded like a man starved…like a man lonely for too long.

"I don't hate you," Natasha whispered between kisses. "I don't hate you."

Bruce spun her around her and backed her inside his apartment, his lips filtering across her jaw, her defined cheekbones, her forehead, her lips.

"I don't hate you," Natasha whispered. She let him back her into his apartment, kissing him with equal fever. "I don't hate you."

He shut the front door with a snap and locked it behind him. She pulled away and looked at him. He still looked like Bruce Banner but at the same time he looked like someone entirely different. Someone new. And for the first time since she had met him, Natasha forgot about his alter ego. Forgot that the hulk even existed.

"I don't hate you."

Their eyes met, his smiling into hers.

"I don't hate you either," he said.


	5. Secrets on a Silver Platter

**Chapter 5: Secrets on a Silver Platter**

_A/N This chapter is based on Ktika131's prompt to do a scene of Bruce's thoughts after Natasha secrets were released in The Winter Soldier. Sorry it's not a very big chapter and might not be that accurate (because I haven't actually seen The Winter Soldier – yes, I know I'm way behind. Haha). Anyway thanks to: untapdtreasure, Guest, RIPXGlee2015, Regia878, Jmags-WritersofAwseomness, Black Victor Cachat and Tripp3235 for your lovely reviews. I also love your ideas and prompts (keep them coming) and I look forward to writing them all and reading your feedback. _

Bruce heard the news – that Natasha had let her secrets out to the world. He couldn't think straight. Why would she do that? Why would she put her secrets on a silver platter for the world to take advantage of? He just didn't get it. He shook his head. Maybe she had a death wish.

He walked through the building, not knowing where he was going. He walked without thinking as though his feet had a will of their own.

He found her sitting on the back porch. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply – a woman that was at peace with herself and her world. He sat down beside her. For a long time they sat in silence. He didn't know what she was thinking or feeling and didn't ask.

When at last, she opened her eyes, she turned to him and smiled softly.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"I heard what you did - serving yours secrets to the world, virtually on a silver platter," said Bruce.

"And what do you think of my decision?"

"Well, I, um, I'm a little confuse to be honest."

Natasha smiled. "How can I un-confuse you Mr. Banner?"

He ran a hand along the scruffiness of his jaw. "I just want to know why you did it."

"Well, it would be kind of selfish not to."

Bruce blinked. "That's it? That's your justification."

Natasha shrugged and let out a humorless laugh. "It's all the same, isn't it? We superheroes keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect some different outcome. I don't want to keep doing the same thing. I don't want to watch every step I take, memorize every lie I've told, become such an figurehead that I've lost myself…I can't do it anymore. I want the world to know who I really am, so yes, I'm serving my secrets on a silver platter, as you poetically put it."

"And you're happy with your choice?" Bruce asked; he had to make sure. He had to make sure that she was okay with it all.

"Well, I'm not comfortable putting my life on display like some circus peepshow, but yeah, I think I am happy with my decision."

"I'm glad."

Bruce stood up. "I'll go make us some coffee. Flat white with one sugar, right?"

Natasha tiled her neck to look at him, her hair swishing across her shoulder as she did so. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did. You're a very secretive person and that's one of the only things you've told me – so of course, I remembered."

Natasha blushed. "Sorry but my secrets are universally accessible now, so feel free to computer search my life."

"I wouldn't dare," he said. "It just makes it more special when you open up to me."

Natasha smiled.

"Thanks."

"For what?" asked Bruce.

"Being here."

Bruce smiled and Natasha knew from the look in his eyes that he understood her gratitude even though he didn't come out as sincerely as she wanted.

"I'll go get that coffee."


	6. What do you call a deer with no eyes?

**Chapter 6: What do you call a deer with no eyes?**

**A/N I am overwhelmed by your support on these drabbles. Over 100 followers all ready. THANK YOU SO MUCH. And thanks to those who reviewed – ktika131, A Shrinking Violet Girl, Black Victor Cachat, Imtellingmyfatheraboutthis, RetroNick, yas-NYPD, untapdtreasure, Luke and R. 2015 – your reviews inspire me to keep doing. Sorry about the length between updates on this chapter. I've been busy with exams. This chapter is based on the prompt from Tripp3235 who requested a pre Ultron scene where Natasha is surprised Banner can tell she is in a bad mood and is able to cheer her up. Hope you all enjoy it and leave me your thoughts.**

Natasha slammed a thick file onto her desk and groaned. There was no reason her bad mood, except Monday was a bitch and PMS was an even bigger one. And she really really hated SHIELD'S paperwork. Hated being stuck at a desk all day, looking at black words until they began a mere blur.

She flicked through the file and stopped. This was a file about Russia, about her, all the adversities of the infamous Black Widow. Natasha couldn't take her eyes of the desk. This day kept giving and giving and not in a good way. She turned the file and read the section on the Red Room and her breath caught in her throat.

_Breathe_, Natasha told herself. _Just breathe._

She leant against her chair. Every nerve in her body shaking. She looked in the folder again.

_It's all in the past_, she thought, pushing the horrid memories away. _They can't hurt me now._

Natasha stood up and shut the file and walked around the office, jerking open every draw and searching through their contents, looking under the cushions of the nearby lounge, the desk and every surface. She rapped her fingers against the wall, leaning against its solid frame to settle her trembling.

"Hi Tasha," said a cheerful voice from the doorway.

Natasha straightened up and soothed down her crumpled shirt_. Remain calm. Breathe. Just breathe. You're not in the red room. You're in your office in SHIELD. You're safe. _

She smiled like it was the easiest thing to do and said, "Hi Bruce, come in."

As she walked towards him, all she could think about was the Red Room and the pile of paperwork on her desk, but then a strange calmness washed over her. She had reached the point when she had been through too much heartache that she turned numb. She didn't want to feel anymore, so she turned her emotions off. That's what her Russian superiors had taught her and even though she hated them, she always thanked them for the lesson. She pushed her emotions away. There was no guilt. No anger. There was no hatred. No shame. There was no grief. No sadness. There was no fear. She had a file about the Red Room on her desk and she had absolutely no more fear.

"How's it going Bruce?" she said, flashing him a smile.

"Busy? What about you?" He nodded towards her desk of paper work. "You look busy too."

"Uh, yeah, kinda."

Bruce nodded in understanding. "Hey I got a joke for you."

Natasha raised her eyebrows cynically. A joke? When did Bruce Banner tell jokes? And when did Natasha listen to jokes? They weren't her cup of tea.

"What do you call a deer with no eyes?"

Natasha shrugged. "What?"

"No idea."

"Oh ha-ha-ha."

"It was a pretty lame attempt at a joke, uh?" said Bruce. "Terrible really. You didn't have to laugh."

"Maybe I laughed on the account of it being lame," said Natasha.

Bruce grinned and Natasha smiled back, even though the red room was still swirling through her head.

"So, um, you came to my office to tell me lame jokes?" said Natasha.

"Well no, I was going to talk about the upcoming mission but I opted for a joke instead."

"Why?"

"Because, well don't get mad at me but you look kind of pissed and look in need of some cheering."

Natasha blinked. "I do?" Surprise filtered through her voice.

Did he see through her calm façade, her expert acting of shutting out her emotions? Or was she so angry about the damn file on her desk that the emotions seeped through her eyes? _No, it must be Bruce_. He always saw her. The true her, even when she tried to hide it.

Natasha had always shut her feelings off from everyone because that's how she had been raised – it was what Russia had taught her, even what SHIELD had taught her. Hide yourself. Hide the little honest pieces of yourself that no one could hurt. Never let anyone see those pieces. But with Bruce, she couldn't. He saw her. He truly saw her.

"I am kind of pissed actually – just all this paper work getting to me and my erratic hormones and, I guess it's just the Monday blues. Nothing to worry about Banner."

Bruce glanced at the file, his eyes filtering over the words – Red Room.

Slowly, his face drained of colour and he looked at her.

"You're doing paperwork on the Red Room?" he asked in aghast. "They gave it to you, out of all people, that paperwork? What the hell were they thinking? I'm going to speak to someone about this…they should have known better than to…"

"No, Bruce, it's fine."

"Is it?"

"Yes. A bunch of paper can't hurt me."

"But memories can."

"Not really. Nothing can hurt me."

Bruce smiled sadly. "You may think no one can see you under the blank façade of yours…that potent veneer…but I see you, I truly see you Tash. And what I see is someone who feels way too much and pretends she doesn't feel at all."

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe you should write a thesis on the way my complex brain deals with emotions, doctor." The words came out harsh and Natasha inwardly flinched.

"I'm just trying to cheer you up."

"You did. Thank you. I am cheered up. I'm fine. Truly."

"Then what were you looking for when I came in?"

"Panadol. I have a headache."

Bruce glanced at the paperwork. "No surprises there." He reached into the pocket of his lab coat. "Here." He handed her a tablet.

"Thanks. You're a legend."

"Anytime Tash, anytime."


	7. The Art of Walking in Stilettoes

The Art of Walking in Stilettoes

The music flowed through Natasha like adrenaline. She grinned, her teeth glowing under the bright neon beams. White lights played overhead, shining onto the dancefloor, turning it into a flashing chessboard of darkness and light. The club had really outdone themselves for New Year's. Dried-ice smoke oozed through the venue and a hired a DJ stood on the anterior stage, his electric blue Mohawk visible through the storm of artificial fog and blinding lights. Giant headphones in, eyes closed, the DJ bobbed to the sound of the music in such a way that Natasha almost felt the beat inside of her.

High heels clonked and dresses swished as dancers moved as one in a flurry of colours. Girls tossed their long hair, boys fist-pumped the air and bouncers weaved through the crowd like sly watchful panthers, mouths poised in an oppressive line.

With her eyeliner slightly smudged, Natasha danced her way over to a group of strangers; her body mingling with theirs in a gigantic wave of heat, none of them caring about what laid outside the club doors that led to reality. Her crop top sneaked up even higher, showing off pale flesh and a studded belly button ring as she waved her hands in the air, reaching high for something more. Spinning around, Natasha laughed along to lyrics she didn't know; her stilettoes thumping in sync with the beating heart of the club. That is, until she spotted him staring at her from across the room. The smile faltered from her face and she froze, her arms still poised above her head like a tepee charade.

She saw his shiny shoes first, then his vest, changing colour in the uneven lighting. He swept through the room, keeping his gaze above the other party contenders until he stood in front of her.

"What are you doing here?"

Bruce cocked his head. "WHAT?" he yelled over the blaring music.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"DANCING." He waved his hands awkwardly in the air.

She smiled.

"Bullshit. That's total bullshit."

He slid his reading glasses off his face with the kind of practiced nonchalance that even in his bowtie, he somehow looked effortlessly cooler than everyone around him.

"I WANTED TO TALK TO YOU ACTUALLY." He indicated to the bright green exit sign. "CAN WE TALK?"

Natasha stared at him, pursing her lips; her Napoleon Perdis lipstick still plum in colour.

"YOU WANT TO TALK? _NOW?"_

He nodded like a bobble-headed caricature.

Running a bejewelled hand through her tousled hair, Natasha looked around the room. On the dancefloor, girls shook their booties and boys grinded their trouser cladded hips. As the song slowed, flocks of dancers migrated to the bar, where barmaids, tired-eyed and pretty, turned on beer taps with a soft smile. Natasha turned and looked at Bruce. He stood in the sea of moving bodies like a rainbow fish amongst a school of krill. The strobe lights kept flickering and Bruce's face kept flashing in an array of blurry colours. The light gleamed from his glasses and several New Year's flyers swirled around them like they were trapped in a tornado of confetti. She took a step closer to Bruce, towering over him in her heels. "Let me guess," she said, leaning down so he could hear her better. "You gave up a night of medical scholarship to come and talk to me?"

He nodded again.

"Fine."

Natasha grabbed Bruce's hand and dragged him through the crowd, the dancefloor pulsing beneath their feet. She didn't know how they made it to the exit or how long it took, but suddenly they stood under the streetlamps and the night air was kissing their sweaty skin.

With her hands firmly planted on her hips, Natasha pressed her lips together and titled her head to the side, her hair brushing over the curved edge of her shoulder.

"Um, so what's up?"

Bruce's face split into a goofy grin.

"I wanted to say…Happy New Year."

Natasha blinked. "That's all?"

"Yeah, that's all."

It neared midnight and the streetlamps flickered brighter as they passed, casting a dim yellow glow across the concrete ground. Her red stilettoes made a crackling noise as the two friends walked down a wide alley and broke into the heart of the city with grey paths that stretched between the town and river. Black, greys, blues. Everything was a blurry mist to Natasha - like rain on a windscreen, a water-washed painting or a blind person without glasses. A tear froze on her unblemished cheek, slightly reddened with blush. She didn't wipe it away.

"Last year was pretty shit, uh?" said Bruce. He sat down on a nearby bench and Natasha sat down beside him, her short black skirt riding up her tone assassin thighs.

"Yeah."

Even though her eyes were closed, Natasha knew Bruce was sitting on the edge of the bench with his hands resting on his knees. When at last, she opened her eyes, she saw him looking quietly at the night sky. She didn't know what he was thinking or feeling and didn't ask. With each passing year, she found that their silence became more and more contented and it was moments like these, moments when she understood that they didn't need to speak to make their friendship comfortable. She learnt long before she met him that words didn't always say everything.

They sat in silence for a long time, letting the humidity create sweat droplets on their skin. In minutes, they both looked like shiny wax figures and smelt atrociously like wet chickens. The gentle breeze dishevelled their hair and from where they sat, they saw that inside the club the New Year's party was in full swing. Laughing, music and the stampede of moving feet could clearly be heard, even from outside the dilapidated building.

Drumming her fingers in time with Crowded House's 'Don't Dream It's Over,' Natasha stared longingly at the nightclub. She wanted to return to the dancefloor. She wanted to be encompassed by billowing skirts and artificial smoke. She wanted to feel the music pulse through her body and intoxicate her as she twirled around, letting her eloquent movements lead her to someplace else.

A pair of shoes nudged her stilettoes. She looked at Bruce and arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"You wanna go back and dance?" he asked.

"Do _you_ want to?"

"Yeah…unless you want to come back to my place and read over some PhDs?" He expected her to pull a face and was surprised when she didn't. Instead she looked at him with such softness in her features; her deep blue eyes rimmed with smudged blackness.

"Rain-check?" she said.

He blinked. "I hope that's a promise."

"Of course."

A soft smile spread across Bruce's lips.

"So, you do want to go and dance?" said Natasha, her voice laced with cynicism.

"Sure." Bruce stood up, ruffling his dress shirt slightly. He held out his hand. "Come on, we want to make a good night of it."

"We do?"

"Yeah."

Under the cover of darkness, barely illuminated by the streetlamps, Natasha and Bruce galumphed out of the city centre and headed back towards the club. The sharp sound of Natasha's stilettoes tapping against the concrete became their new soundtrack.

"How do you walk in those things?" asked Bruce, staring at her shoes with an expression of pure bewilderment.

"Trust me," she replied, "there's an art to walking in stilettoes."

"What's the secret?"

She flashed him a smile. "Don't trip."

"Ah…I see."

Natasha smirked and glanced at Bruce. He had always, in their years of friendship, been a white water river, flowing and changing, never the same but always constant. She loved him for that – for she had always been the admired waterfall – loud, beautiful and brazen, crashing onto the river below with apologetic brashness.

Bruce slid his glasses back onto his nose.

"Hey Tash?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, before we go back to this dance thing, I have to tell you that I can't dance. No rhythm at all."

She laughed and draped her arm through his, noticing that the numbers on his analog watch had been replaced with the solar system.

"Don't worry," she said to Bruce as they reached the club entrance. "I can't dance either."

He smiled at her. "Bullshit. That's total bullshit."


End file.
